After the funeral

CHAPTER 11: MORNING LIGHT

Valeria woke before the alarm.

For a moment, she didn’t know where she was—or why her body felt warm, loose, pleasantly heavy. Then she felt it.

An arm around her waist.

Slow, steady breathing at her back.

She stayed still, letting the reality settle.

This wasn’t a dream.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds in thin lines, soft and forgiving. Tomás shifted slightly in his sleep, his hand tightening instinctively, as if her presence had already been registered even in rest.

Valeria closed her eyes.

She didn’t feel regret.

She felt clear.

Carefully, she slipped out of bed and moved toward the kitchen, pulling one of his shirts over her bare skin. It smelled like soap and something distinctly his—clean, familiar far too quickly.

The coffee machine hummed softly. She leaned against the counter, staring out the window, letting the quiet settle around her.

I didn’t disappear, she thought.

I stayed.

Tomás appeared moments later, hair tousled, barefoot, watching her as if this scene belonged somewhere deeper than morning.

“Morning,” he said, voice low with sleep.

“Morning.”

He poured himself coffee and leaned across from her, studying her face—not searching for distance, not pressing for closeness. Just present.

“You okay?” he asked.

Valeria nodded. “Yes. I just needed to feel what that meant.”

“And?”

“And I still feel like myself,” she replied. “Maybe more.”

Something in his expression softened—relief, maybe. Respect.

They talked about small things. Music. Work. Nothing that required decisions or explanations. It felt intentional—like both of them understood that naming things too quickly would break something delicate.

Before she left, Tomás brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “But I won’t pull you faster than you want to go.”

Valeria met his gaze, emotion tightening her chest.

“I don’t want to hide,” she said. “Not anymore.”

He kissed her forehead—gentle, grounding.

As she drove home, the city looked sharper, more awake.

She didn’t feel reckless.

She felt honest.

And that felt far more dangerous.